


Just Dropping In

by carrionkings



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair (mention), Isabela (mention), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkings/pseuds/carrionkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kardys struggles to manage all the responsibilities that come with the mantle of Commander of the Grey and gets a brief respite in the form of an unexpected letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Dropping In

“Will that be all, Commander?” 

He hardly glanced up at the recruit as he waved her away. She inclined her head politely, turning on her heel and walking out the door. The Commander had never really been one for words, but lately he hardly spoke at all, his eyes dulled and features sharp from lack of sleep and food. She stopped and peered back around the door jamb; he was once again buried in his work, his quill moving without pause. Both Oghren and Nathaniel claimed that they'd seen the Commander smile – laugh, even – but she had yet to see proof. He was sensible, reliable man – a fair leader and an excellent tactician who led with a clear voice and efficient orders, but he seemed... detached. Inhuman. 

Though, she thought as she made her way back down the tower, that was probably not the best way to put it. 

He was a Dalish after all. 

~

Warm afternoon sun ebbed away into the cool blues of evening far more quickly than Kardys would have liked. He frowned at the feebly burning stub of a candle on his desk, but decided against putting it out for the moment. He slumped back in his chair and sighed, trying to massage the cramp out of his hand. How ironic that holding a quill hurt his hand more than gripping the hilt of a dagger. How did the saying go again...? The pen was mightier than the– 

A knock at the door made him sit up straight again. “Come in,”

It was the same recruit from before. (What was her name? Creators, he needed to be able to remember everyone's name...) She approached his desk, a couple documents and a plate in her hands. Kardys stood, wincing when he heard his back creak in protest. He'd been sitting too long. 

She handed the heavy parchment to him. “A few letters for you, sir. Looks like the royal seal on one of them? Oh, er, I didn't mean to pry. I-I just dropped it on the way up and I saw...” She coughed a little, her face flushed from embarrassment. “And... we noticed you hadn't been eating much, so I brought something up for you. Nothing fancy, but better than nothing.”

Kardys' mouth quirked into a half smile – an expression he seemed to have discarded lately. “Thank you, Noel. I appreciate the concern. But it is getting late, and you're on patrol early tomorrow. You should get some rest, no?”

Noel brightened and nodded, setting down the plate on the edge of the desk.“Thank you, sir. Good night.”

He watched her go before glancing down at the letters he held. The first was heavy and indeed embossed with the King of Ferelden's seal. Kardys cracked the wax and flipped the parchment open, scanning the pages, recognizing Alistair's deliberate, yet somehow ungainly penmanship. Didn't kings have writing tutors? The half smile broadened a fraction. 

_'Just checking up on you, Kardys. That business with the Architect couldn't have been easy; I wish I could've been there to help. Things are alright on my end. I'm kind of concerned about this whole thing with Orlais, but it shouldn't boil down to outright war. Cailan was able to convince the Empress to talk – I'll see if I can't do the same.'_

War. The elf's jawline hardened and he set the letter down. He felt he'd seen enough warfare to last several lifetimes. But what will be will be, and he was far less optimistic about the coming years than Alistair. Perhaps he should go pay Orlais a visit, just to scope out the – 

He shook his head; he couldn't do that anymore. The Wardens needed to remain politically neutral, especially now that they were under constant scrutiny after their reinstatement. Lost in thought for a moment, he almost forgot about the other document he was holding. He glanced down at it, turning it over in his hands. There was no seal, no writing on the outside – nothing remarkable at all, really. Suspicious, he inspected the envelope more closely. A smudged thumbprint marred one side, far too red to be ink. Kardys stared at it for a moment before carefully slicing under the wax holding the document shut. A single sentence scrawled in a bold hand stood out clearly on the page. 

_'Watch your back, Warden.'_

He froze, his gaze flicking from the parchment to the encompassing darkness. He carefully placed the letter on his desk, closing his eyes and angling his ears forward slightly. The telltale scrape of steel on leather from the right warned him to move. He snatched his hand away just in time to avoid the small knife that embedded itself in the cedar, neatly pinning the missive down. Kardys quickly snuffed the guttering candle and slipped into the shadows, drawing one of many blades he carried on his person. Slowly maneuvering his way around the circular chamber, he caught a glimpse of his assailant. It kept to the shadows, silent but vigilant, carefully surveying its surroundings. As careful as the figure was, it was neither as swift nor as quiet as Kardys had trained himself to be. With a snap of his wrist, the elf disarmed his would-be attacker and pinned it against the wall, his dagger at its throat. 

“Ahh, as quick and stealthy as ever. You win,” 

“One of these days, I will be tired enough or rusty enough to be caught off guard,” Kardys remarked, releasing his hold and re-sheathing his knife. “You might even pin me to the desk next time, rather than your warning note.”

Zevran laughed, a bright sound in the darkened room. “You? Rusty? My dear Warden, I can't believe you'd ever allow yourself to get soft in this line of work! Why, you'd be dead before I even got here,” He laughed again. The sound was infectious, and Kardys felt his smile return as he admitted that yes, indeed, he would be a dead man if he ever fell out of practice. “And there is no need to worry – I would never use any poisoned blades on you.” 

“Much obliged. How did you get past Grendel, by the way? I thought he was right outside.”

“The dog? He's asleep. But I came in through the window, anyway. You need to get a better place, my dear – this is far too easy to sneak into.” The assassin leaned over the desk, extracting his knife and inspecting it before replacing it in his belt. “Speaking of easy, I must say that the Crows are getting sloppy.”

Kardys folded his arms and raised a brow. “Perhaps it's because they're down a guild master?”

Zevran pulled a face, feigning dismay. “Oh, please, do not tell me you have not been paying attention! They are down _two_ guild masters. And their men, as well. Also a few cells have disappeared, as it were. And perhaps several messengers.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Such a shame,” 

“You've been busy.” the other man said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “And you've traveled quite extensively, or so I hear. Is Kirkwall really as cramped and oppressive as I am told?” 

The Antivan wrinkled his nose. “How you manage to keep tabs on where I go is beyond me, _amore_. But let me just say that Kirkwall could use a little of my expertise. They speak of an upcoming war between mages and the Chantry – perhaps we will even see an Exalted March in the near future! Speaking of mages, I did find your runaway. Anders, was it? He's working with the Champion at the moment... along with our favorite pirate wench, might I add.”

The thought of yet more conflict did not sit well with Kardys. To hear an Exalted March so casually and openly suggested did not help matters. He brushed away his concern, bringing his attention back to Zevran. “Isabela? I haven't heard from her in a while. How was she?”

“As frisky as ever!” 

“And I didn't get an invitation to this? For shame, Zev.” 

Zevran shrugged, cocking his head to the side slightly. “It was such a pity! The Champion reeled her back in before I could even say I wasn't available.” He smiled again. “...though she did ask about you. But enough! You look tired, my dear Warden. You have not been sleeping again, I take it?”

Kardys winced again. He knew no one meant ill by replacing his name with a title, but... sometimes the title was all anyone else thought of – the Hero of Ferelden or the Commander of the Grey was all anyone saw. He wondered if the Champion of Kirkwall felt the same way. Cool fingertips at the side of his face brought him back out of his thoughts. 

“I take that as a 'no.' Come, Kardys. I know what you need.”

The Dalish smiled wryly. “Do you, then?”

“Of course! You are tense and tired and I am very good with my hands, as you well know. You need a massage and afterwards...”

Kardys laughed, inclining his head slightly. “ _'I'm sure you'll think of something.'_ Like old times, then. ...I've missed you, Zevran.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is an older fic i cleaned up and posted. i've only recently started sharing things, having finally gotten over my fear of posting them here, but i liked this one enough to share. 
> 
> thank you for reading!


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